OpEds: Fairness and Sustainability – Taking the FAS-Track

by Diane Gee, Editor, The Wild Wild Left


consumistDiablo

Economics is not a thing.  It’s a contrived process, miles of convoluted intestinal tracts, twisting sinews, spasming to pass along fetid human flotsam and degraded resources with every value leached out along the way leaving nothing in its wake but the product it defecates.  We all know how lovely that is.

Yeah, I love economics.  All theory is based on previous theory, including the Leftist “greats” who I am finally slogging my way through.  Marx, Lenin, whoever.  Not to be dismissive of their groundbreaking idea that the peasantry itself was actually the source of all wealth, though I gather slaves have fathomed that nuance throughout the entire reality of human interaction.  It’s a great thing to say out loud.  I said it long before I read them.  “We are money.  We are the source through which all gains flow, and there truly are no gains that are not ill-begotten gains, if you really think about it.”

They say money doesn’t buy happiness. I counter money buys unhappiness, actually misery and suffering in an exponential pyramid to those on the bottom holding it up.

What money really buys?  Is time.  Time to enjoy life rather than endure it.  It is not only labor being stolen, our inherent value, but the most precious thing we have on our short trip on this blue marble.  Our time. Time well spent is the only true happiness there is.

Sure, we want that sailboat, or sweet car, or bigger house, or flat screen.  Toys are cool, there can be no denying.  If every person in upstate New York had a boat, even a lake as big as Seneca would be wall to wall boats.  We (they) can’t have that, now can we? Picture the parking problem of 1000 ships trying to make Troy.  Some of those poor bastards would have to walk a loooooong way.  Heh.  Too many people equals insane congestion.

Think about why that is, starting with the fact concentrations of people are always in cities centered around the concept of “finding work.”  Just leave that in the back of your mind for a moment.  We will come back to it.

Let’s go back to economic theory, the voodoo myth that says everything must rely on consumption:  Supply/demand, labor/production, value/markets. Even worker-owned capitalism (socialism) is still capitalism in a sense, because the well being of the people still relies on buying and selling (economy) rather than creating a system where purchase (cum profit) is unnecessary.  There is no kinder, gentler vampirism, when the host system has limited blood.

My audience is primarily made up of people who agree with these things, many, most vehemently.  Compared to what we have now?  A society in which we ourselves own our labor and means of production is nirvana.  Check.  Got it.  Some of you are economic theorists who will speak of debt and taxes and my naivete in thinking that economic theories are all just more faith-based illusions meant to keep you trembling before the God of the Dollar.  Bear with me here.  Some faith is good.  If you are in your car, what stops utter vehicular devastation but the faith you hold, and each person in their vehicle holds?  You believe you must stay in your lane.  They believe they must stop at a stop light.  But some faiths are the antithesis of avoiding “devastation,” and the most basic of these faiths is that we must have a system based on consumption.

We are in that position now, nearing utter devastation. The end of finite resources is coming, accelerated beyond imagination by what amounts to the two new shiny tools that Leftists of old never imagined:  The mechanizing of most labor (robots don’t unionize!) and the opening of international labor pools to a degree that essentially has rendered the elites into a single extraction-entity.  One world market, one global country, ruled by elites that have no allegiance to anyone but themselves.  Make cheap, sell high, record profits and environmental destruction without remorse.  The Class War has happened, and all wealth and resources have been redistributed to the top.  We lose.

This really sounds daunting until we remember there are some 7 to 8 billion of us on the planet.   That’s a big number.  Poor Lockheed Martin only made 2.93 billion profiting off war last year. And they only employ 132,000 people of the 7 billion on the planet, presumably not the other 6,999,868,000 people they are not trying to kill.  It’s madness. More so when you think about the mere 200 people (200!) who hold most of the planet’s wealth.

Socialism, communism could cure that to a degree.  Both are inherently democratic concepts and on a global scale could help to eradicate these gross inequalities that by random luck of birth leave one baby to live in gross luxury and the next to starve to death by the age of two. Socialist principle redistribute wealth back to those from whose labor it actually comes.  Awesome concept.  But?

What those systems cannot do, with their plodding planning and anarchistic “local control” is overcome the FACT that resources are finite.  Or that in any trade, benefit is gained by demanding more value than something is worth in order to profit.  Local control is a wonderful thing when it is a more organic notion, living sustainably within and as a part of an ecosystem.  Local control over factories based on mass production just adds to the overarching problem.  You see, “the economy” in and of itself is based on the very Western concept of “work” and “productivity” as being a virtue.  It does not address diminishing resources, melting ice caps, peak oil, vanishing rainforests or carbon in our atmosphere.

Secondly?  Any system of buying and selling has self-interest at its core.  Local control under that system would still produce those who wanted to benefit from more “money” and compete with other localities, as well as among themselves at some point… even under the most stringent of safeguards.  Markets would not be markets without competition, or profit, even shared profit. The point of the work itself is to do better for yourself, even your “collective selves.” It’s a snake eating its tail.

That core concept, that only in labor and productivity does man have value is flawed.

That core concept, of “producing” and “consuming” even in the fairest of fashions is flawed.

You probably think this is a universal concept.  It is not.  It is the result of humans moving northward to ever more hostile environments that created the need to create caches of excess to survive the cold months between growing seasons.  It became a self-fulfilling, positively-reinforced concept of the north and west. Slackers died.  Hard workers lived and gained more.   It became part of the mindset of Western imperialism, so ingrained as a “virtue” as it were, that when they conquered other lands they were aghast at sustainable societies, and deemed them lazy, heathen, tribal vermin.  As is the case now, for the most part today’s society cannot begin to fathom a world without work for works sakes, cannot dream of the idea of a non-monetary system and scream, “How would we get STUFF without work and income?”  We are less racist about it now, but we are still equally judgmental.

primitiveWWII_Tunga_Photo_Villagers_smoking_

Picture the cultural clash when during WWII, soldiers from Europe and America landed in, and created stations in Polynesia.  At first they saw it as Paradise.  Beautiful women willing to be joyous sexual partners.  What seemed endless free time for the villagers.  Communal sharing.  That quickly turned into disgust, as chronicled by James Michener in “Tales of the South Pacific” and Hemingway’s love of the people of Cuba.  (although he loved the western, exploitative bars too)

You see, in places of plenty, the very concept of self and greed were the foreign concept.  No one “owned” anything, right up to and including the children.  Competition was unimaginable.  Work was done only when necessary, by whomever was handy to do it.

The West worked hard to crush those ideals, shamed the women into hating their bodies, taught the men they had to stake out territory and defend it, and most of all?  Tricked them into working as they taught them the idea of “coveting” some trinket or another.

Chile, before the Chicago Boys Straussian indoctrination had a wonderful and growing quality of life.  Well fed, healthy coastal villages became slums as the US businessmen sent in factories.  The workers could no longer afford what they themselves once grew.  From an article written at that time:

The inhuman conditions under which a high percentage of the Chilean population lives is reflected most dramatically by substantial increases in malnutrition, infant mortality and the appearance of thousands of beggars on the streets of Chilean cities. It forms a picture of hunger and deprivation never seen before in Chile. Families receiving the minimum wage cannot purchase more than 1,000 calories and 15 grams of protein per person per day. That is less than half the minimum satisfactory level of consumption established by the World Health Organization. It is, in short, slow starvation. Infant mortality, reduced significantly during the Allende years, jumped a dramatic 18% during the first year of the military government, according to figures provided by the UN Economic Commission for Latin America.

Neoliberalism crushed them, true. They were better off under Socialism, true as well. But the indigenous tribes that are self-sustaining are still the bane of both systems; and in most cases both systems seek to crush that way of life and bring them into the labor-force fold.  Why?

It’s not just profit, private or collective that drives it.  It is a combination of a delusional “must produce” mindset with an ecological exploitation diktat and the idea that free living people must be brought into the “Westernized’ fold.

The single most frightening thought of all is the idea that work is no longer truly necessary.  It is as foreign to us as the idea of work for work’s sake was to the Polynesians.

I understand fully well we do not live in small numbers in some tropical paradise where the trees drip with fruit and the fish are there for the taking.  I understand as well the demographic nightmare we have in moving food to concentrations of people in concrete jungles that will not support any life.

What we do have is technology, and the ability to make most of that process mechanized and not labor intensive.

I read Lenin’s “An order of civilized co-operators in which the means of production are socially owned,” and see the justice in it.  I also see the gaping flaw.  Lenin’s “What is to Be Done” refers solely to Industrialized Nations, and sought to industrialize the World – hence adding legions of “workers”  to his cause.  He sees agricultural, sustainable societies as lesser beings that had to be brought into the system of supply and demand, labor and “economics.”

We have the capacity for limitless, green power, so much so, that Germany’s surplus threatens its ancient grid, while other nations are “paying” insane amounts for the expense and increasing rarity of fossil fuels.  We could entirely eliminate all the labor and “exchange” in the providing of power with ease.

Without monetary markets and trade and the horrific Monsanto crushing of the bio-diverse DNA codes of natural foods, food itself could be sustainable. Harkening back to my demographic point – without the need for work, people would again disperse to more rural settings and garden themselves. How many of you would live where you live if you did not have to live there to serve your job?  We would not need to fill every lake with boats, nor every ski slope with skiers.  Our interests are as varied as we are.  Without the concept of “weekend” or vacation, time sharing could be as easy as pie.

If the God of all Economic theory is Production/WORK?  The God of Production/WORK is Inherent Obsolescence.

In a soundbite?  “It has to break, so you have to buy more, so people can have WORK!”

Picture a world where you are given a vehicle at the appropriate age, if need be, an environmentally sound vehicle that will last FOREVER.  There would be no need for car payments on a vehicle built so well that it never breaks down, rusts or needs replacement.  Think even further to the point where mass transit negates the need for individually owned transport in the first place.

We have the technology.  Who will make them?  Or the TV’s and Computers on which we rely so heavily?  Perhaps, as part of our expanded educational system, 6 months must be given in some sort of “labor” in whatever field that a student feels a “calling” to.  Remember callings?  Rather than grow up to be in a cubicle, where people were called to a profession?  Would teachers teach without the idea of having more than their non-teaching neighbors?  Sure they would… because what has long been missing from our equation is real value.  Gratitude, honor, esteem of our neighbors.  Did the people of Polynesia have exceptional fishermen, weavers, builders and teachers?  They did, not because there was any currency per se; because the villagers loved and honored them for their contribution.

“Treat the earth well: it was not given to you by your parents, it was loaned to you by your children. We do not inherit the Earth from our ancestors, we borrow it from our children.” ~ Ancient Indian Proverb

We, as a whole, have shit in our own nests, our own water, and one may say we deserve to die of thirst.  Water, too is finite.  There is no sane society that would despoil forever the water tables sustaining life on Earth fracking for gas that is absolutely UNNEEDED to provide power.  Even our excrement could be composted into useful matter with our levels of science and technology without using this most precious of resources to “wash” it away.

Basic levels of housing, heat, and food could be met on a sustainable level with very little human “labor” involved.  Things like clothing, which do wear could be produced by robotic means, but would require we lose the vanity/consumption addiction to have ever new garments with which to decorate ourselves.  Medicine could again be a calling, and cures given to all mankind.  Without the profit motive?  Endless treatment of symptoms would lose out to people looking for true cures.

So, what would we do with all our time?  Love our children.  Help one another.  Learn, create art, enjoy and protect nature.  Party naked! Heh.  Ok, I may go too far there.

If the drudgery was not our main reason for living, who knows what we could do with our brilliance and creativity?  Certainly our energies could be better spent than to think of new ways to compete, and make war on one another.  Instead of making sure all who need it get insulin?  We could spend that energy on splicing some DNA into a stem cell that would heal your pancreas.

We could reverse the Climate Change, protect the diversity of our eco-systems and all the living things within it.  We could live as part of the world, again, rather than its Consumers.  Consume:  To eat.  We are predating and killing our life support system, driven by some madness that says we have to “work, make, use, discard, then work more to use more, only to discard again,” in some demented game that is propagating the false idea that we must serve this thing called an “Economy” to survive as a species.

We know where the sun goes at night.  We no longer have to work to the bone to survive a winter.  And no amount of “work” in the world will prepare us for the long winter that global warming could create, anyway!.

Work is not the point of our existence.  It’s barely necessary at this point.  Even in a Socialist System, Capitalism is inherent too.  It is still slavery to serve pointless production that kills our planet, and pointless work to consume what must by its nature produce more consumption.

The rich are rich in time.  Time is the only thing that matters.  We are giving away our time in a counter-intuitive venture that is completely unnecessary and planet-killing.

It could be a world of fairness.  It could be a world of sustainability.  It could be Paradise. It could be Global Cooperation.

It could be a world based on LEARNING, problem solving an coexisting in nature.

Let’s leave the fast track to oblivion, and start talking about the FAS track to Nirvana.  Fairness and Sustainability.

Think about it.  A factory, a cubicle, or here?

naturelibrary1

Diane Gee is a political commentator and activist residing in Michigan. She is the founding editor of The Wild Wild Left, and Links for the Wildly Left (Facebook).

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Radical changes (14.50 / 2)
only come from radical thinking.

by: Diane Gee @ Thu Jan 03, 2013 at 18:30:35 PM UTC
On a purely technological level, we can stop predating on the planet (17.00 / 2)
By bare thermodynamics, recycling takes lots and lots of energy, since it is reversing entropy.  So, even with a conservation modality, energy production would need to go up (way, way up!), not down.  Not because of being spendthrift wastrels, because of pure physics, in that case.

In any event a whole lot of effort needs to be put into recycling technologies.

I think we can do a lot better in communities without the need for so much stuff.

I hate to be such a communist with a one-blanket answer, but by living the way we live, at least in America, a huge huge amount of waste is entailed.

We live isolated in our ticky tacky apartments, get mentally ill and kill each other, pleasing Wayne LaPierre in the process.

The weirdo also known as AndyS In Colorado




RETRO ACTIVE: Red Dawn (1984)

The Political Film Blog
http://daily.greencine.com

by Nick Schager

North Korean-centric remake Red Dawn.]

Of all the places to invade America, Colorado—cutoff from any reasonable air or naval support—would seem a pretty terrible choice. But don’t tell that to Red Dawn, John Milius‘ eminently ridiculous time capsule of Cold War paranoia and teenybopper play-acting, which finds small-town Colorado overrun by Russian and Cuban soldiers. The sight of paratroopers landing outside a high school classroom window is the sole iconic image mustered by Milius’ film, which otherwise details, with dreary and unearned self-seriousness, the efforts of a local group of kids to hide in the mountains, school themselves in the ways of resistance, and then fight back against the invading commie hordes as the Wolverines (a name taken from their high school football team). Thus, the fate of American sovereignty rests in the hands of Patrick Swayze, Charlie Sheen, C. Thomas Howell, Lea Thompson and Jennifer Grey, who along with a few other nondescript twerps co-opt Latin America guerilla tactics in an adventure that—either laughably or insultingly, depending on your vantage point—embraces the role-reversal fantasy of America as the righteously subjugated underdog forced to battle back against tyrannical oppressors.

Patrick Swayze and Charlie Sheen: two reasons for the Red Army to fall apart. O yea.

Furthering that bizarro-universe situation is the fact that the nominal commander of the communist invaders is a Freddie Mercury-lookalike Cuban named Bella (Ron O’Neal) who repeatedly expresses confusion over how to operate now that he’s not the insurgent, but the aggressor—a notion that reaches its hilarious apex during the film’s climax, when Bella writes home to his wife that he misses her, hates the frigid cold of Colorado’s winter (a sentiment that would no doubt be ridiculed by his Russian comrades!), and is morally lost without a revolutionary cause driving his actions. This upside-down fairy tale would be more tolerable if it were played with at least a bit of self-conscious humor, but no, Red Dawn is all solemn posturing and speechifying, most of it done by a cast of young Hollywood up-and-comers who carry with them not a shred of believable gravity. Milius and co-screenwriter Kevin Reynolds don’t flesh out these kids as three-dimensional characters, but rather as stock types with predefined roles—the brooding leader (Swayze), the loyal brother (Sheen), the tragedy-damaged loose cannon (Howell), the tough chicks (Thompson and Grey) —whose main function is to flip-flop between acting battle-hardened and traumatized.

Jennifer Grey and Lea Thompson bravely fighting imaginary Russkies.

Early on, Swayze and Sheen find their father (Harry Dean Stanton) in a reeducation camp, where the elder—before hilariously exhorting them to “Avenge Me!” —tells them that, no matter what happens, they shouldn’t cry. It’s advice that goes unheeded, as there’s endless male weeping in Red Dawn, with everyone bawling after another member of their clan is killed, thereby turning the entire proceedings into some sort of unintentional Big Boys Do Cry comedy. Milius’ story is concerned with the loss of innocence suffered by his protagonists, who are forced to assume adult responsibilities and roles until they can lie down and die near a public park swing set, a symbol of youth finally regained. The problem, however, is that amidst such a ludicrous The Commies Are Coming! scenario, this portrait rings ridiculous, especially given the Breakfast Club-style characterizations on display. Swayze’s tormented alpha-male routine is the silliest of the bunch, all over-the-top agonized screaming, but it’s almost matched by the performance of Powers Boothe as a downed American fighter pilot whose grizzled-vet jadedness merely confirms that both kids and adults alike behave like overwrought G.I. Joe phonies in this Us-vs.-Them universe.

John Milius: A classic display of lifetime rightwing infantile psychosis. Not even sophisticated people are exempt. Reality and truth are there to be disregarded at will. Thinks the remake is a dumb idea, and only on that, we agree. —Eds

¶¶

When not giving the teenage set a Rambo-style saga to call their own—replete with numerous sequences of the Wolverines attacking Russian soldiers and bases with a skillfulness that’s out-and-out absurd—the film also doubles as a bit of unvarnished right-wing propaganda. In Red Dawn, the 2nd Amendment is what allows the kids to resist occupation—note the “They Can Have My Gun When They Pry It From My Cold, Dead Fingers” bumper sticker—and triumph is ultimately achieved through old-school mountain-man camping and hunting in the glorified natural splendor of Arapaho National Forest. With Jeremiah Johnson as their patron saint, the Wolverines are homegrown militiamen whose survivalist skills prove vital and valiant, even when they go loony like C. Thomas Howell and gun down a friend-turned-traitor—an act that’s justified because the victim in question was a wimpy class president, not a venerated jock like Swayze and Sheen. It’s all so much nonsense, even with the participation of the usually dependable Stanton and Ben Johnson (as a Wolverine benefactor). And it’s undone by not only the unbearable affectation of its cast, but by the fact that, ultimately, a world with these kids as heroes seems less palatable than Russian occupation, which at least involves art houses showing nothing but Sergei Eisenstein‘s great Alexander Nevsky.

Nick Schager writes film critiques for Rotten Tomatoes, Slantmagazine and other venues.

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Aleksandr Tarasov: THE INTELLECTUALS’ BETRAYAL

VOICES FROM RUSSIA
Aleksandr Tarasov

SPECIAL DISPATCH FOR THE GREANVILLE POST
Moderated by Gaither Stewart


The betrayal of public intellectuals is now almost universal, especially so in the West, where they scramble to serve established power and imperialist ends while retaining currency in an utterly prostituted culture. Their tool, as usual, is cynicism and sophistry. In France, Bernard-Henri Lévy, a professional decadent and shameless fame-addicted narcissist, who is now clamoring for outright war against Syria, was also a vocal supporter of French intervention in Libya against Muammar Gaddafi in 2011. For his part, another famous “nouvel philosophe” — André Gluckman—has spoken out against human rights abuses by Russian forces in Chechnya. That their pronouncements serve as propaganda gifts for the American-led alliance is apparently of no concern to them at all.

Ten Years of Shame: Arguments About Blame
THE INTELLECTUALS’ BETRAYAL
A critique of Soviet intelligentsia and its counterparts abroad

The 1990s were the years in which the intelligentsia gave up its identity and its autonomy. The intellectual [intelligent] – if he is authentic and not a pseudointellectual (an intellectual by status, a bureaucrat, a clerk, a narrow specialist in a nonindustrial sphere such as education, management, or information technology) – is a creator: a creative individual, a genius, a person engaged in the search for truth through rational (scientific) or emotional (artistic) understanding and assimilation of the world. True intellectuals comprehend their individual role as thinking subjects and their social role as enlighteners and emancipators. Genuine intellectuals are paragons of critical thinking, opposed to conformity and parochialism.

In the 1990s the intellectuals betrayed themselves. They voluntarily adopted the psychology of shopkeepers and prostitutes. The shopkeeper is oriented toward immediate material gain in order to sell more at higher prices (and avoid having goods lying around). The prostitute also sells her goods (herself) – which are, generally speaking, not at the peak of freshness – and likewise wants to sell them at top prices to a large number of buyers. Neither the shopkeeper nor the prostitute is a creator; neither produces; they only sell. In the 1990s the “intelligentsia” became a social stratum of intellectual shopkeepers and intellectual prostitutes. Mass consumption demands mass – that is, uniform, and to a large extent primitive – goods. The “intelligentsia” agreed to foist their intellectual rotgut on anyone, faithfully taking in every word and gesture of their pimps (sponsors, that is, bankers, foundations, civil servants – those who gave money, awarded grants, distributed wages, and established the rules of the game). This was done with an enthusiasm worthy of better uses, as they fulfilled each and every wish, even the most perverted, of their pimps.

The “intelligentsia” has become an estate of philistines [meshchane], a petty bourgeoisie. The “intelligentsia” is now a herd of conformists, and like any herd it is easy to control. The intelligentsia of the 1990s does not want to create, to produce masterpieces (which do not make money, for it takes decades for masterpieces to be recognized – often after the death of their maker – and they want success right now). The “intelligentsia” of the 1990s has rejected critical thinking: critical thinking is repressed (at best one is denied access to the feeding trough, at worst put in prison or killed). The absence of critical thinking, however, also means an absence of critical action – that is, the absence of creative action, revolutionary action, action that changes the world, innovative action. Of course, the “intellectuals” of the 1990s have lost their role as enlighteners and emancipators. Instead, they have discovered a hypocritical, servile contempt for their own people – viewed as mere cattle. The intellectual prostitutes and shopkeepers have adopted (as lackeys and servants often do) the views and manners of their lords.

The “intellectuals” of the 1990s believed in a postindustrial “information” society, which gave them grounds for self-justification: we are no longer dependent, they said, on those who mine coal, pick cotton, and grow grain. We live in a different, “higher” civilization – although farm products are not yet virtual but are still produced by peasants; moreover, peasants in the “third world,” who live in desperate poverty. Nor is clothing virtual: cotton is still grown and picked by peasants; weavers still weave the fabric as before, only to be repaid in tuberculosis and pneumoconiosis; and coal (without which there would be no electricity, meaning that their computers and electronic media – the entire virtual world of the pseudointelligentsia of the 1990s – would not work) is still mined by miners as it always has been, for a pittance, even as they contract silicosis and die by the hundreds annually in cave-ins and methane explosions.

The “intelligentsia” of the 1990s has become a predominantly parasitical stratum, and like all parasitical strata it is inclined toward counter-revolutionary sentiments. It has become unfashionable to be on the left. Revolution has given way to an anathema against “violence” (as if counter-revolution is not violence; as if the “normal existence” of the modern world, in which the United Nations estimates that forty million people die from hunger every year, is not the mass murder of the starving by those with full bellies).

The pseudointellectuals of the 1990s do not want to enlighten and emancipate anyone. Geniuses, creators, prophets, and revolutionaries are eager to enlighten and emancipate: the broader their circles and the greater their community, the more interesting it is for them to live, the more meaningful their existence becomes. The petty bourgeois, the intellectual shopkeepers and prostitutes, have no economic interest in emancipating and enlightening others: from their standpoint anyone who is enlightened and emancipated is an economic rival. Suddenly he is selling something, and I am not? Suddenly the pimp dotes on him, not me?

The venality of our “intelligentsia” was already obvious in the Soviet period, in the 1970s and 1980s when “intellectuals” unanimously praised the “wisdom” of the CPSU and of Brezhnev personally, although no NKVD agent held a machine gun at their backs and forced them to do this; they were simply well paid for it. But venality became even more unattractive in the 1990s, when the very people who had praised Communism under the Communists instantly became ferocious enemies of Communism under the anticommunists. We need only recall P. Gurevich, who in the 1970s and 1980s “exposed” mysticism, neo-Freudianism, and orthodox individualism while extolling Marxism but in the 1990s began to praise mysticism, neo-Freudianism, and right-wing individualism while spurning Marxism. D. Volkogonov was still compiling ideological strictures for GlavPUR in the late 1980s, branding anyone who “slandered” the Soviet army; by the 1990s he was issuing orders for the struggle against “communo-fascism” and writing antihistorical “works” demonizing Lenin and Trotsky. In the 1970s A. Tsipko wrote books on Marxist theory (illiterate, true – he even confused the titles of Lenin’s works!); in the 1980s he was a consultant to the Central Committee apparatus; but in the 1990s, as soon as he acquired a chic apartment in a Central Committee building on Dimitrov Street (many still remember the brouhaha the press made about this building in the early 1990s, when the campaign against privilege was being waged), he immediately became a ferocious persecutor of the Communist Party.

The “intelligentsia” of the 1990s have become a stratum serving the interests of those in power and those with money; they ignore the fact that these people are becoming increasingly dim-witted and esthetically undeveloped. Stalin could phone Pasternak to find out whether Mandel’shtam truly was an outstanding poet. Kennedy was able to ask someone to explain to him (“just so I can understand it”) what made Béjart an outstanding ballet master. No one can prove to Luzhkov that Tsereteli is a monster. No one could show Margaret Thatcher that cyber-punk was the most brilliant literary phenomenon in the United States in the 1980s (anything associated with the word “punk” elicited an instinctive class aversion from Maggie). To please those with power and money, one must conform to their tastes; and to conform to their tastes, one must be like Zurab Tsereteli and Sydney Sheldon – that is, one must either be a mediocrity or become one.

THE TRIUMPH OF MEDIOCRITY

The 1990s saw the victory of mediocrity over talent. The mass culture despised by intellectuals of the sixties and seventies and part of the 1980s was proclaimed an equal culture, one that completely supplanted authentic culture (because mass culture sells well, and it sells well because it is designed to satisfy the primitive tastes of the primitive minds of the “middle class”; mass culture is the authentic culture of the middle class). Entire cultural branches (which usually have a short history within the authentic culture) were destroyed in the 1990s. The first victims were the cinema and rock. As art forms, the cinema and rock emerged from mass culture relatively recently: the cinema shed the fetters of “mass culture” in the 1920s, but it emerged as an independent, serious, and authentic art form only in the 1950s, when post-Stalinist cinema developed in the “Eastern bloc” (the Soviet, Hungarian, Polish, and Czech cinematographic schools), and Italian neo-realism became dominant in Western cinematographic consciousness. Rock emerged as an authentic, serious art form only in the second half of the 1960s.

There is no more cinema. Instead of cinema we now have movies. This is no longer art. It is a part of show business. Show business bears no relationship to art (as revealed by the very name “show business”). Fellini or Tarkovsky could not exist in the 1990s; they are not related either to show or to business; they cannot be sold. Show is a strip tease, a man with two heads, a band playing out of tune led by a bare-legged, simple-minded drum majorette. In the final analysis it is Pozner or Arbatova (“a talk show”), diligently making fools of housewives on TV under orders from those in power (another version of the “soap opera” – it fills the viewer’s time, but God forbid their brains should ever be engaged). Business is business: I have a commodity that I have to palm off on the consumer; brains in such cases are downright harmful – God forbid that you should wonder whether the consumer needs such a commodity.

The shameful story of the blatantly second-rate, intolerably boring, unbearably tawdry, cloyingly sentimental, archetypally tabloid Titanic is symbolic. It symbolizes the death of cinema as art. There are many such symbolic phenomena in the 1990s: there is, for example, the solemn elevation to “modern classic” and “outstanding cinematic achievement” of the blatantly miserable and second-rate film “The Fifth Element” (designed at best for ten- to twelve-year olds), or the awarding of the Legion of Honor (!) to El’dar Riazanov for his monstrosity “Parisian Secrets”.

In the 1990s everything cinematic that was neither kitsch nor show business but art found itself banished to a ghetto.

In the 1990s, neither “The Doors” nor Janis Joplin nor “King Crimson” could exist. They are too oppositional. They are not politically correct. They are too philosophical. Finally they are unpleasantly gloomy. The attempt to reproduce Woodstock thirty years later showed how far the rock scene had degenerated. Instead of a holiday of union and love, a feast of geniuses, a communion with the pulse of the world, it was an ordinary show with crowds of half-drunk, done-up, sated, self-satisfied yuppies and children of yuppies who did not even listen to the music or express an interest in who was playing or what was being sung (which was, in fact, no longer important – this was not the 1960s). Rather they strove to be part of a “historical” event by wallowing in the Woodstock mud.

Those who resist with all their strength the spell of commercialization and musical primitivism and attempt to preserve the spirit of genuine rock are also relegated to the ghetto (in extreme cases they are made into “useful Jews” – dubbed “stars,” “outstanding figures,” “living legends,” and “national treasures” – and the British queen and the U.S. president are ready, should the occasion arise, to shake their hands and give them an official document testifying that “the bearer is a genuine member of the Judenrat in the rock ghetto”).

Using mechanisms discovered and perfected in previous decades, mediocrity with money has learned to render harmless creative people, artists, and true intellectuals. In the United States, for example, Hollywood and TV, of course, perform the role of “murderers of talent.” As soon as a talented prose writer appears on the literary horizon, he is immediately tempted with large sums of money to do screen plays in Hollywood and/or on TV. That is all that is necessary: the talent dies. The same happens to poets, only they are swallowed up in the quagmire of pop music.

Actually, it is interesting how American pseudointellectuals – the mediocrities who imagine themselves to be “art people” – reacted to this in the 1990s. Since both Hollywood and TV are interested only in people who are able to create talented, gripping, dramatic, and psychological prose (i.e., prose for which some distinct classical criteria exist and quality is easily determined by comparing it with familiar models), literary buffoons incapable of working at this level of difficulty spawn “automatic” works that have no theme, no characters, and so on. In this way they console themselves and suggest to others that only this type of prose is “truly contemporary,” reflecting the spirit of the present. Mediocrities behave the same way in poetry. Being incapable of creating interesting works within the poetic tradition (for example, it is not easy today to write original, nonepigonic, rhymed verses, especially in complex forms – try, for instance, writing a Spencerian stanza!), the mediocrities rush, to a man, into minimalism and free verse, arguing that only such verse is modern and reflects the “spirit of the times.” Actually, elemental envy of one’s more successful colleagues hides behind these “theoretical manifestoes.”

In the 1980s these people were still able to turn up their noses, snort, and stigmatize the more successful people who were part of Hollywood and the pop scene as having “sold out” and descended into low “mass culture.” In the 1990s this is impossible. They themselves have proclaimed “mass culture” genuine, venality a sign of success, and success a sign of talent.

Society’s loss of interest in modern artists (in the broadest sense) is retribution for mediocrity. Why spend money to look at a mediocre film if it is obvious that on that level I can make a film myself? So you have tens of thousands of members of the American “middle class” in the 1990s taking video cameras in their hands and making porno films in which they themselves participate, and which they later exchange with one another. But actually this is far more interesting than the analogous products that use actors whom, unlike your neighbor, you would never meet in real life.

The triumph of mediocrity was also reflected on the political scene. Brilliant politicians were supplanted by opaque, gray, wretched little people. One need only look at the physiognomy of, for instance, Robin Cook or Jamie Shea to call to mind if not a manual in psychopathology, then at least Max Nordau’s “Degeneration”. President Clinton will go down in history as a scandal involving oral sex. This is not Kennedy and the Carribbean crisis, and especially not Roosevelt with his New Deal and victory in World War II. No one assassinates Clinton, because no one needs such a Slippery Joe (unlike Roosevelt or Kennedy). The faces of European politicians, unmemorable and indistinguishable from one another, openly blend into one another, devoid of all individuality. Then there are Russia’s farcical political leaders – from the dunce Chernomyrdin, whose sole achievement was the phrase “They wanted the best, but they got more of the same” to the first delirious, then demented Yeltsin, a “second edition of Leonid Brezhnev” (I will not even mention the other Zhirinovskys).

The “intellectual elite” is no better. All our economists with their advanced degrees were complete flops in the 1990s, written off as utterly incompetent. Our sociologists did no better in all the major elections of the 1990s, unanimously predicting a crushing defeat of Lukashenko and Kuchma in the presidential elections in Belarus and Ukraine, a stunning success for Our Home Is Russia and Russia’s Democratic Choice, and the defeat of the Communists in the Russian parliamentary elections.

Even Western economists did no better in the 1990s. None of them was able to predict, or even provide a reasonable explanation of, the Mexican financial crisis or the later Asian, Russian, and Brazilian crises.

The phenomenon of Francis Fukuyama and his “end of history” could have emerged only in an atmosphere marked by the triumph of mediocrity. One need only recall a university course in the history of philosophy (in this case Hegel), adroitly pluck out Hegel’s ideological precept, and use it in praise of liberalism (no one even noticed that Fukuyama stole not only from Hegel but from Hitler as well, proclaiming the next “thousand-year Reich” – this time a liberal one!), and in a void one can earn the laurels of an “outstanding philosopher.” Even in the 1980s no one could have imagined such a thing. The French “new philosophers” were also masters of self-publicity, but even they were unable to achieve such success. Nor is it important that all Fukuyama’s postulates have proven quite untenable by the end of the 1990s – the name has already been earned. Fukuyama is already studied at the university as a “living classic,” while other philosophers – real ones – are being removed from university courses in the 1990s: Marx in Mexico, Hegel in the United States and France, Gramsci in Canada, and Unamuno and Sartre in Denmark.

NARCISSISM, HEDONISM, AND DISNEYLAND

In the 1990s art lost its social significance – with the full consent of artists and “intellectuals.” Philosophical novels, social films, rebellious poetry, political rock, frescoes and psychodelic paintings, and psychodelic dances – both socially and politically oriented (a part or a legacy of the counterculture) – vanished into the past. “Artists” withdrew into a little world of petty and deeply personal problems, to heal (and cultivate) their numerous complexes. The age of narcissism arrived, celebrating the individualism and shameless need for publicity of the ordinary philistine “ego.” In the 1990s “artists” spend their lives in persistent (often futile) attempts to attract attention and cajole money out of potential sponsors. Self-love compensates for lack of talent and imagination. Prose about nothing sits side by side with prose about love of one’s own body. (A. Ageev showed me one such masterpiece from the journal “Znamia”, saying, “That’s it, I’ve had it!” The author was describing at great length how she shaved her pubic hair with her father’s razor; who on earth could find this interesting?)

Having lost its social relevance, art lost its audience, said goodbye to society, and became superfluous in the modern world. Then it became a game (the popularity of “Homo ludens” among our “intellectuals” in the 1990s is very instructive, and so is the failure to understand Huizinga, especially his warning that play by nature exists outside morality). By transforming art into a game, “artists” of the 1990s drastically reduced the value of art and their own value as “artists,” and their “product” became something sold in a toy store, known to be unremarkable and readily interchangeable.

This kind of “art” is no longer dangerous to the System. Consequently, such “artists” are not masters of ideas – that is, Artists. No one will hang them as they did Ryleev, shoot them like Lorca or Joe Hill, guillotine them like André Chénier, behead them like Thomas More or Walter Raleigh, beat them to death in the stadium like Víctor Jara, throw them from a helicopter to drown in the sea like Otto René Castillo, shoot them like Lennon or Courier, poison them like Santeul or Li Yu, let them die in the camps like Mandel’shtam or Desnos, or burn them alive like Servetus or Archpriest Avvakum. They will not die in battle like Javier Heraud or José Martí, and no one will skin them alive like Imadaddin Nasimi. No one needs them because they terrify no one. Power respects only those it fears. By shifting their activity into the domain of play, “artists” of the 1990s became the toy of Power. All they had left was to play to exhaustion, to play themselves in the game acceptable to Power.

The 1990s signaled the triumph of hedonism. Psychologically, socially, culturally, there are three types of people: the philistine, the bohemian, and the creator (creative personality). In the 1990s the philistine and the bohemian merged, here and in the West. The bohemian adopted the values of the philistine world, and the bohemian lifestyle made inroads into the philistine world. The “Artist” learned how to hustle money for a “project” and, when the “project” was done, to turn life into one grand party with weed, grub, and sex to exhaustion, celebrating that he need do nothing for a long time except live on the money he received for completing the “project.” John Milton, who was unable not to write Paradise Lost, or Pushkin, whose “hands [were] drawn to the pen,” would not have understood this.

Of course, all this requires surplus money in society. This surplus is created, as we know, by unequal exchange with the “third world.” The hacks can produce their talentless “artistic” products (of no use to anyone) by the thousands and pump themselves full of heroin because somewhere in Latin America, Africa, and Asia (and now in Russia as well) thousands of children are dying everyday from hunger. In the 1990s the world of the middle class became an inseparable blob of philistines and bohemians, a single endless gallery, podium, TV show, sex, tourist, sadomasochistic club.

Hence the fascisization of the artistic media. Fascism became safe for the System (Chile’s Pinochet confiscated no one’s property; on the contrary, he returned what Allende had nationalized). Fascism became a game, but a game at the margins of the permissible. It is the surest way to attract attention to oneself, that is, to successfully sell oneself in a market where there are too many competitors. The clearest example of this is “Laibakh,” and the “Neue Slovenische Kunst” [new Slavic art] in general. Fascism has become part of the mainstream. The SS uniform worn by bikers, gay ballet dancers, and visitors to sadomasochist clubs; the humanization of Hitler by Fest and Sokurov – all this is merely a cultural expression of the political amalgam of bourgeois democracy and fascism in a single country (for example, Peru, where parliamentary democracy destroys the villages of 600,000 Indians, turning them into refugees, and kills 80,000; or Turkey, where parliamentary democracy destroys the villages of 3 million Kurds, turning them into refugees, and kills 200,000).

The “artist” at play is a hedonist and a narcissist; he has no chance of finding the same audience or enjoying the same demand or the same level of respect as a social artist – rebel, prophet, and “accursed poet.” In Sandinista Nicaragua there was a flowering of poetry and universal love for Cardenal, García Márquez, and Guayasamín; the partisans in Timor pray to the poets and artists of clandestine theaters as they pray to the gods; and in the jungles of Colombia the singers of songs of protest enjoy incredible honor and respect among the armed campesinos. In a world where “artists” are bought and sold – and consent to being bought and sold – they have no future as true artists do. They are commodities: their fate (and their price) is determined by the buyer, and the buyer in modern Western society is increasingly drawn to objects that are used only once.

Hence, too, comes the enthusiasm for linguistic philosophy, which is completely harmless, politically sterile. If one studies language and text (Ur-text) instead of people and society, it is by definition impossible to encroach on anyone’s property interests. Today’s linguistic philosophy is just as much the refuge of cowards as scholasticism was in the sixteenth through eighteenth centuries, and it is no accident that linguistic philosophy, like scholasticism, focuses on the interpretation of texts, not the analysis of practice and experience. There can be no action, no practice, without a clash of interests. Action is engaged from the outset; hence anyone who analyzes action is also forced into engagement: he looks through the eyes of either winner or loser, and even as an “onlooker” he is forced to acknowledge that there are winners and losers (which is itself humiliating to one side). Only the author of a text, not its interpreter, is responsible for that text – not to mention that exegesis does not create intellectual essences but only recombines those that already exist, whereas generalization and the analysis of experience and action do create new intellectual essences (experience and action are pre- or extra-intellectual, natural phenomena).

Hence, too, the enthusiasm for nonclassical philosophy, which is especially widespread among those “artists” and “intellectuals” who parade in “left-wing” and “leftist” garb (the same kind of attempt at attracting attention as playing at fascism). Such “artists” and “intellectuals” have always existed, but in the past authentic left-wing Westerners called them “plush” or “chic leftists” – that is, inauthentic, toy leftists. “Chic leftists” especially love Debors (since he theoretically “justified” the meaninglessness of political struggle long before Fukayama – merely in a different, pseudo-Marxist language, proclaiming the indestructibility of the thousand-year liberal Reich) and Foucault with his penchant for studying psychosocial pathology and borderline phenomena. He says, for example, that madness is an “antibourgeois” phenomenon. Of course, secretly the “chic leftists” know that madness is not antibourgeois: it does not oppose the bourgeoisie, it exists altogether apart from class characteristics. Only that which (or those who) presents a positive social project that can compete with the bourgeois project and create a new utopia are antibourgeois and consequently dangerous to the bourgeoisie (i.e., dangerous to those in bourgeois society who are involved in this). This the bourgeoisie represses. But madness is allowed. Madness is not a crime but a disease. Revolution can be proclaimed a crime, illness never.

POSTMODERNISM, POLITICAL CORRECTNESS, AND THE TYRANNY OF THE MEDIA

The 1990s were the age of postmodernism. The “1990s generation” repudiated philosophy because of its own patent inability to understand classical and postclassical philosophical texts and its fear of the struggle to change the real world. The “intelligentsia” of the 1990s enthusiastically embraced postmodernism precisely because it saw it as a justification of its own intellectual mediocrity, its creative barrenness, its political cowardice, and its social venality. For postmodernists, the “supercession” of ontology, rationalism, and philosophy in general “justified” the inability to come up with a scientific vision and understanding of the world, to understand and appropriate the legacy of philosophy (as V. Terin aptly put it at a seminar at the Center of Modern Art, “Now you do not need to read Kant, Hegel, and Marx – now you can read me, Terin”). The postmodernist rejection of the cognitive, prophetic, and didactic functions of art “justified” lack of talent and made it possible to replace the traditional production of works of art with endless “activity” oriented toward this activity as process. The postmodernist proclamation that rational action was “obsolete” (since the “result never coincides with the plan” and “the object of change responds violently to attempts to change it”) “justified” fear of repression (narcissists and hedonists are afraid not only of death, torture, or prison but of the absence of comfort and loss of the means to indulge in a variety of pleasures – can one truly live without LSD and a bidet?). The postmodern decision to grant equal status to genuine art and to kitsch, to the serious and to play, to left and right, to building and destroying, to the real and the illusory “justified” the banality of the “intelligentsia” and transformed it into a machine for satisfying the quite primitive needs of a “middle class” in pursuit of hedonistic pleasure.

Postmodernist society is Abraham Moles “mosaic culture” become reality. Society is divided into small groups, each with its own “geniuses” (utterly wretched), its own neophytes (even more wretched), its own standards of quality, its own morality, and its own fashion. Postmodernist society can no longer act as a whole; it is defenseless before those wielding power. Micro-groups are unable to unite, and they have great difficulty interacting with one another since they are secretly hostile and do not need one another. The postmodern world is a world of singles. In the ideal case, postmodern society strives toward atomization, to complete self-satisfied equality, and to intellectual limits, despite its apparent diversity (“The Machine Stops,” according to E.M. Forster). The biggest, carefully guarded secret of the postmodern world is its extraordinary political utility for the ruling elite. The elite is consolidated, engaged, and utterly rational; and it owns property, receives profits, and organizes (on purely rational grounds) world industry and the world political process. The elite is conservative out of necessity (no profit without stability); it does not play postmodernist games. (It wears stiff suits; its children attend closed schools where they receive a classical education and the nineteenth-century discipline of the rod; it buys Cézanne paintings, not the installations of Carl Andre; it listens to Beethoven in Carnegie Hall, not Michael Jackson in stadiums, etc.) The elite forces postmodernism on the “middle class” and the “grass roots,” for an atomized society is safe (it cannot take away the elite’s property, and hence their power).

If a mosaic culture is not to degenerate into an open war of all against all, political correctness is necessary. Political correctness is, according to the brilliant definition of Paco Rabanne, the “virtue of sheep being led to the slaughterhouse.” Social conflict spurs a search for allies. It tends toward globalization, and any such conflict, even though it begins with a clash among the myriad cells of mosaic society, threatens to expand into a class and race conflict (since during the course of the conflict, greater and more general contradictions and incongruities come to light, fundamental contradictions and incongruities, and blocs of allies are formed). Political correctness ensures stability by its disregard of the Other. Laziness and an aversion to understanding any other cell of mosaic society makes it possible to avoid conflict (by avoiding comparisons) while narcissistically glorifying oneself. As Christopher Hitchens observed, political correctness has not inspired people with respect for diversity; everyone is afraid of everyone else, and out of fear each tries to show no interest in the others. Hitchens called the reign of political correctness the “I-millennium” (another form of the “liberal Reich”!).

Political correctness guarantees mediocrity high status within one cell of mosaic society: the hierarchy of talent from craftsman to genius (from Bulgarin to Dostoevsky) is based on comparisons. Without comparison there can be no hierarchy. Anyone can proclaim himself an “artist” and a “genius.” “Genius” becomes a declaration: one need only gather two or three friends (drinking buddies) to start a “current” or a “school.”

In postmodern society the media become gendarme and censor. By encouraging a specious diversity of styles and groups, the media create a situation of information overload, which, as psychologists and psychiatrists know, blocks the higher (peak) psychological functions (emotional, intellectual, and creative). “Mass culture” becomes the only acceptable culture not only because it is imposed but because its reception requires no effort. A brain overloaded with information resists receiving anything that requires a serious intellectual or emotional investment.

In the 1990s the media successfully erased information deemed inappropriate by those in power from people’s picture of the world. They primitivized the picture of reality, the viewer as a person, and the criteria of taste and morality in general. Thus, the scandal of Monica Lewinsky forced hundreds of millions to meddle in the personal life of someone they did not know at the same time as it erased unpleasant reality from the “electronic picture of the world”: the partisan war in Colombia and the participation in it of American aircraft; the millions protesting in New York against racist police terror set in motion by Mayor Guiliani; and the government’s attempt to disband the strongest U.S. trade union, the Teamsters (truck drivers, etc.).

In the 1990s the tyranny of the media forces a loss of standards: it is impossible to explain in terms of postmodernist (rational) thinking why someone like Tudjman, a devotee of fascism, and the Islamic fundamentalist Izetbegovic are “good,” but the socialist Milosevic is a “monster.” In the 1990s it is unnecessary to explain anything; it is sufficient to proclaim. As a result, those at the front of the media’s cultural portrait gallery are those who are completely safe. For example, in prose writing we have Viktor Erofeev and his books that everyone knows have nothing to do with literature; Pelevin and his “Chapaev and Pustota” – an exact copy of the (morally even worse) novel “Al’tist Danilov”, that mass culture “hit” from the “period of stagnation,” and so on. The 1990s loss of standards involved not only quality but activity as well, the very existence of status. The court requires expert confirmations that Avdei Ter-Ogan’ian is an artist and acts in an artistic way, although no one demands that Prigov prove that his writings are poetry (although bad verse or no verse can already not be considered poetry).

In the 1990s the media ratcheted up changes in standards, names, and fashions. Styles and artists changed constantly – every day. Constant novelty is required of the “artist” – thus demands the market and advertising – and the demand is mechanical, formal, and esthetically, qualitatively, and fundamentally irrelevant. In the 1990s “after” means “better” – that is, if Yevtushenko writes after Byron, he must write better.

The tyranny of the media was in full display during the second Yugoslav war (the war in Kosovo). The first Yugoslav war was justly called a “postmodern war,” but the second revealed the total dependence of the postmodern “culture community” on the media, which were entirely under the control of those in power and no longer even masked their role as brainwashing machine. NATO aircraft systematically destroyed the Yugoslav media precisely because they were not controlled by NATO and provided “incorrect” information – this was stated openly. Well-known American professors unanimously complained that not one publication wanted to print articles in which they criticized NATO, and television crews refused to interview them as soon as it became clear that they opposed the war in Yugoslavia. The postmodern pseudointelligentsia, moreover, has begun quoting Roland Barthes, repeating that “every discursive system is a presentation, a show,” although the Yugoslav example in fact refutes Barthes: it exemplifies the overt destruction of the show (the game). It is an example of how one discursive system destroys another – not linguistically, not according to Barthes, not through “aggressive dialogue,” but with missiles and bombs, eliminating dialogue and imposing monologue. Both Yugoslav wars had economic causes, among others: the refusal of the ruling Socialist Party in Yugoslavia to privatize collective property and allow Western capital to buy up Yugoslav industry (altogether, only 7 percent of the Yugoslav economy is privatized, and in Serbia the figure is 4 percent). The Yugoslav leadership’s position can be explained in terms of the economic interests of the collective owners who are also the backbone of the Socialist Party, but the Western media said not a word about this, preferring to demonize one person, Milosevic. This is a deliberate dumbing-down of the viewer to the level of the benighted and illiterate Russian peasant of the early nineteenth century, who believed that Bonaparte was the Antichrist.

THE GHETTOIZATION OF CULTURE

In the 1990s authentic culture was banished to the periphery, driven into the ghetto: this is true not only of art but also of philosophy, and the humanities as well – only the last were driven into the ghettos of universities and minuscule research groups and centers. The humanities were split into dozens, even hundreds, of schools in the 1990s – and these schools did not interact with any of the others (except perhaps for the most similar; even then there were conflicts). For example, in post-Marxist European thought we have the “London school” (an outgrowth of the Yugoslav group Praxis), which was expelled from the intellectual field considered enlightened by the media, and this cell of mosaic society was represented by a small group of politically inoffensive French “chic leftists” – Deleuze and Guattari with their “Desire,” Lyotard with his “intensity,” and Baudrillard with his “temptation.” By the 1990s in France, the historical schools, which made no effort to conceal their social engagement, were bankrupt, and they were driven out of the publishing world and the universities. Only those that did innocuous things survived: for example, publishing documents and compiling commentaries on commentaries. Strictly speaking, as a discipline history no longer exists in France. What remains are pseudohistory (helpless, stripped of its methodology, and popularized) and metahistory.

Ghettoization condemns to fragmentation and oblivion those who do not accept the rules of the game imposed in the 1990s. Isolated from the media, given limited means and a limited circle of discourse and communication, and published in very small print runs, they are condemned to a struggle for survival and have difficulty finding one another.

The postmodern world of the 1990s actively hinders the acquisition of full and accurate information as well as access to the pre- and postmodern critical legacy and to authentic culture. It did this, however, not by outright prohibition (which would have made matters easier: “what is forbidden is true”) but by information overload, by overwhelming the sensory channels with “white noise.” The ghettoized opposition is increasingly torn from its own roots and is finding it more and more difficult to find not only allies but even predecessors. Thus, the theoretician of an Italian Luxemburgianists organization “Socialismo Rivoluzionario”, was quite startled when I told him that the twentieth century had produced a large number of Italian Marxist philosophers. He knew only of Gramsci; all the other names – even Labriola, Della Volpe, and Coletti – meant nothing to him!

In the United States ballet troupes that tried to resist the “ballet mainstream” – despite being isolated from one another and impoverished – have ended up in a cultural ghetto. The situation was similar in the second half of the 1960s and the early 1970s, but then these troupes were able to find one another quickly, to work together and interact (sometimes even in conflict), and on the whole saw themselves as part of the Living Theater. As a result, they were able to force society to see itself and to recognize itself. Today this is impossible because of the huge sea of ballet circles and studios for the “middle class,” where overweight Americans learn dance to pass the time, lose weight, and maintain their figures.

But the issue is not merely that the “airwaves” are overloaded. At issue is the fundamental incompatibility of two cultures: authentic culture, which is the legacy of the European tradition from the Renaissance and the Enlightenment to the avant-garde; and “mass culture” (a phenomenon that exists independently in any culture, not only European or Westernized culture). Authentic culture is oriented toward genius, creativity, and dissatisfaction; the new “mass culture” is oriented toward philistinism, consumption, and comfort. They cannot coexist peacefully any more than the Nazis and the Jews could coexist peacefully in the Third-Reich.

And if today, in the 1990s, the “Nazis” hold the “battlefield,” then naturally the “Jews” are in the ghetto. Hence, for example, the splendid journal “Zabriski Rider” is unknown to the “public at large”; the remarkable painter, poet, publisher, and anarchist Tolstyi exists, as it were, outside “cultural space”; and the brilliant rock bard and performer Aleksandr Nepomniashchii has never appeared on the TV screen or on radio music stations. For the same reason, “official poetry” (from Voznesenskii to Vsevolod Nekrasov) diligently ignores the existence of Evgenii Kol’chuzhkin, an outstanding traditional poet and pupil of S. Shervinskii, who lives in Tomsk. Finally, this is why the Russian literary world pretends that the shocking parody It’s Me, Little Boris! exists nowhere in nature.

The intelligentsia of the 1990s related to the cultural ghetto in the same way that the German population under Hitler related to the concentration camps and the Jewish ghettos. That is the bill the children (grandchildren) of this “intelligentsia” – the future RAF – will present to their forebears in the twenty-first century.

By ghettoizing authentic culture, postmodern society itself drives those who find themselves in the cultural ghetto into ideological and political opposition. Thus, the journal “Bronzovyi vek” began as a purely literary publication, bordering on mainstream culture. After a few years of ghettoized existence, “Bronzovyi vek” became a publication that was openly opposed to liberalism – politically, esthetically, philosophically – to the “open society,” and to representative democracy.

THE DEGENERATION AND DECLINE OF THE POSTMODERN EMPIRE

By the end of the decade, the postmodern empire of the 1990s had begun to putrefy – at a pace that would have been unbelievable in preceding eras! – and began to demonstrate all the classic signs of degeneration and decline

Intellectual banality was never a novelty, but neither was it so massive and so destructive in its consequences (even for those who had sold themselves). On the whole, the “intelligentsia” sold out in two ways. Let us provisionally call them the “path of Stephen King” and the “path of Jeff Koons.”

Stephen King once produced talented tales that had a clear antibourgeois and antimilitarist subtext (his past as an activist in the struggle against the Vietnam War was discernible), linking the lineage of Ambrose Bierce with that of Ray Bradbury. With the advent of success (later, commercial success) Stephen King moved from culture to “mass culture” and lost face. Instead of stories, novels now appeared (listings, fees!); individual style was replaced by brisk “dialogue” and “action”; psychology gave way to stilted, repetitive images. Even his plots became repetitive – nowadays in a King work, basically someone falls into a hole in space or time or someone (something) is drawn or sucked up at the sound of a whistle (or the smacking of the lips). The number of copies printed, however, continues to climb. But interest is declining even in the field of “mass culture.” His creative and personal degeneration is apparent. It is degeneration through success.

Jeff Koons showed himself to be an incredibly talented artist in a very inauspicious field – the field of advertising. Success made it possible for him to move from the sphere of mass culture to the world of serious culture. He ridiculed the mass culture of advertising at the end of the 1980s in his series Banality. In the 1990s Koons again moved to mass culture through the pseudorebellious action film Made in Heaven. Of course, his marriage to Cicciolina belonged in the scandal columns, and in the 1990s you no longer surprise anyone with a series of photographs of the sex act in various positions (the porno industry!) even if it is oneself and Cicciolina who are the “stars.” But the rules of the tabloid scandal are observed (including the pretense that this is a “political” opposition to hypocritical, conservative, Reaganesque America, but then Madonna would be a “political fighter”!). So here we have scandal, success, money – and degeneration. The openly boring, wretched but highly paid works on command of the 1990s. This is degeneration through scandal.

For example, in our country Pelevin, who began writing stories that were unquestionably interesting if not really of genius, chose the path of Stephen King. Saraskina, who went from articles on literary criticism to articles on every conceivable topic in the “glasnost era” chose the path of Jeff Koons and then abruptly leaped into mass culture with her book on Dostoevsky’s Women.

An entire pleiad of our best-known rock musicians – Grebenshchikov, Kinchev, Shevchuk – have tried both scenarios. In the early 1990s their rock was both a scandal (from the standpoint of “official culture”) and a continuation of their success in their previous cultural activity. The end is the same for all: degeneration into barstool trivia and indulgence of the tastes of the “new Russians.”

One can witness this deterioration in the examples of such cult figures as Tarantino, Lynch, and Greenway. First, what is the meaning of “cult” when there are so many “cults” that anything that is obviously badly done (“punk loves garbage”) can become a “cult.” Second, the repetitiveness and recognizable features in Greenway, Lynch, and Tarantino, their production-line quality, soon renders them uninteresting, even outright boring, except among a narrow circle of “fans.” The “cult” is instantly transformed into a minor “sect” and dwindles to nothing.

The postmodern “intelligentsia’s” abolition in the 1990s of the dichotomy between scientific and ordinary thought naturally resulted in degeneration to the everyday, a return to philistine common sense. By the end of the 1990s the intelligentsia was already afraid to use scientific terminology and the vocabulary of serious philosophy. It speaks in professional pidgin (“deconstruction of discourse by the syntagms of representative installation” – a familiar business: only those who think clearly can explain clearly!). This fear extended to include the very term “postmodernism.” At the same time, the “intelligentsia” began to panic every time it came into contact with complex reality. For instance, Lee Rasta Braun shuns all forms of systematization: if a phenomenon is systematic, it requires systematized knowledge and systematized thinking, and systemized knowledge and systematized thinking are inaccessible to the victims of mosaic culture (a system presupposes hierarchy and comparison). Peter Fend proclaims himself to be a “politically active artist” but thinks in categories of the average American (and even boasts about it), endlessly repeating the banalities of a “left-wing

Biedermeier” and maliciously attacking Sartre for supposedly “sitting in a café his whole life holding forth on how much he hated the bourgeoisie” (although the real Sartre participated in the Resistance and in [the student demonstrations of] May 1968, personally sold “Lutte ouvrière” newspaper in the seventies, helped the “urban guerrillas” of the RAF, and inspired revolutionaries from the sixties through the 1980s, to say nothing of his direct role as a philosopher and writer). Peter Fend’s hatred of Jean-Paul Sartre is the hatred of a man in the age of degradation who cannot realize himself socially and politically toward a man who was thoroughly social and political, a man who was fully self-actualized. In other words, it is envy – envy of other times and other “rules of the game.”

The complaints of the “artists” of the 1990s that “the public is not interested” in them is a phenomenon of the same type. Here, too, “the public” is professional pidgin, a euphemism, a shameless and cunning replacement of reality by “virtual reality.” It is not “the public” that does not need the “artists” of the 1990s but society, or if you will humanity.

This is not the first time a mosaic culture has developed, but it is the first time it has been global, not confined to one country or one empire. A typical mosaic culture evolved in Austria-Hungary before its collapse. The same was true of the Greek states before they fell. A postmodern type of culture, with all its attributes – repetitiveness, citations, recombinations, emphasis on spectacle, sexualization, play – has also appeared before. Such was Europe in the age of mannerisms, in the late Byzantine empire, and in late Rome. Even small details coincide – such as the hyperbolization of the “fashion industry,” the enthusiasm for “ethnic music” and tattoos, or the transformation of communication by representatives of the “cultural environment” into in-group patter. The analogy with Rome is especially appropriate because late Rome, like the modern “first world,” was a parasitical formation – the metropolis existed at the expense of the provinces and by plundering the outlying territories, just as the “first world” today exists at the expense of the “third world.”

The classical signs of degradation and decline deprive the intelligentsia of the 1990s of all prospects. Future historians will approach the 1990s as they did the 1890s in Russia or the 1780s in France: as “the putrefaction of a sated, parasitical society,” the fin de siècle, “the growth of mysticism and immorality,” “narcoticization,” “heightened interest in and esthetization of illness and death,” “decadence,” “retreat into a world of illusion,” and so on.

The development of culture will, as it always has, proceed from sources beyond the mainstream of parasitical society – that is, from sources alien (or at least opposed) to the Western liberal postmodernist “culture.”

The “intelligentsia” of the 1990s has condemned itself to a future of oblivion and ridicule. And that is as it should be.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Alexander Nikolaevich Tarasov (Russian: Алекса́ндр Никола́евич Тара́сов, born March 8, 1958 in Moscow) is a Soviet and Russian left-wing sociologist, politologist, culturologist, publicist, writer and philosopher. Up until the beginning of the 21st century he referred to himself as a Post-Marxist[1][2] alongside István Mészáros and a number of Yugoslav Marxist philosophers who belonged to Praxis School and emigrated to London. Since in the 21st century the term Post-Marxism has been appropriated by Ernesto Laclau, Chantal Mouffe and their followers, Alexander Tarasov (together with the above mentioned István Mészáros and Yugoslav philosophers) stopped referring to himself as a Post-Marxist.[3]

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Steven Spielberg’s Lincoln and the historical drama of the Civil War

By Tom Mackaman, wsws.org

Directed by Steven Spielberg, written by Tony Kushner


Day-Lewis as Lincoln

Lincoln, which will be released in theaters nationally November 16, is a powerful cinematic treatment of the Lincoln administration’s struggle to pass a constitutional amendment abolishing slavery in 1865, the final year of the American Civil War.

The film centers on the period of the “lame duck” Congress in early 1865, the fourth year of the Civil War, after the electorate had handed Lincoln and the Republicans a crushing victory in the 1864 elections over the Democrats, who opposed emancipation. It follows the political struggle to pass the Thirteenth Amendment through the House of Representatives—it had been passed by the Senate the previous year—amidst deep war-weariness in the North and against the backdrop of a mounting sentiment in favor of a negotiated peace with the South within the Republican Party itself.

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The screen is populated by real historic figures, first and foremost Lincoln, played by Daniel Day-Lewis. Also present are First Lady Mary Todd Lincoln (Sally Field), Congressman and radical Republican Thaddeus Stevens (Tommy Lee Jones), Secretary of State William Seward (David Strathairn), conservative Republican Francis Preston Blair (Hal Holbrook), New York City “Copperhead” Democratic politician Fernando Wood (Lee Pace), Union general Ulysses S. Grant (Jared Harris), Confederate Vice President Alexander Stephens (Jackie Earle Haley), and many, many others.

The considerable strength of the film, directed by Steven Spielberg and written by Tony Kushner, rests in its detailed presentation of the extraordinary history surrounding the passage of the Thirteenth Amendment. This took Kushner beyond the work of Doris Kearns Goodwin’s Lincoln biography Team of Rivals, upon which the film is partly based.

In an interview with the Wall Street Journal, Kushner acknowledged several important sources, including James McPherson’s magisterial Battle Cry of Freedom, writings on Lincoln by Alan Guelzo, and Lincoln’s own letters. The filmmakers have paid careful attention to historical accuracy, from lighting (the film attempts to recreate the sort of oil-based illumination of the day) to language (much of the dialogue is selected from the historical record, including speeches from the floor of the US House of Representatives.)

The film brings Abraham Lincoln to life in a way that comes close to Karl Marx’s unsurpassed description of the man. Lincoln was a figure, Marx wrote, “neither to be browbeaten by adversity, nor intoxicated by success, inflexibly pressing on to his great goal, never compromising it by blind haste, slowly maturing his steps, never retracing them, carried away by no surge of popular favor, disheartened by no slackening of the popular pulse, tempering stern acts by the gleams of a kind heart, illuminating scenes dark with passion by the smile of humor, doing his titanic work as humbly and homely as Heaven-born rulers do little things with the grandiloquence of pomp and state; in one word, one of the rare men who succeed in becoming great, without ceasing to be good. Such, indeed, was the modesty of this great and good man, that the world only discovered him a hero after he had fallen a martyr.”

Much of the credit for recreating this Lincoln must go to the extraordinary efforts of Irish-born actor Daniel Day-Lewis. In his performance, Lincoln appears to deliberate carefully about every word, always ahead of his interlocutors, thoughtfully assessing the political meaning hidden behind their positions. Lincoln comes across as both a shrewd politician and a leader whose policies were ultimately rooted in principle—above all else, the principle of equality.

“We began with equality, that’s the origin isn’t it? That’s justice,” the film has Lincoln say in an obvious reference to the Declaration of Independence. Day-Lewis manages to fuse the politician—Kearns Goodwin’s rather narrow focus—to the principled man “never compromising … by blind haste, slowly maturing his steps, never retracing them.”

Day-Lewis is facilitated by Kushner, who must be credited for allowing Lincoln’s own words to form much of the script. The film opens with Lincoln near a battlefield meeting Union soldiers, white and black, who together recite to him his already famous Gettysburg address, and its assertion that the war was for “a new birth of freedom—and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.”

The film closes, in the wake of Lincoln’s assassination, with a flashback to his Second Inaugural address, movingly rendered by Lewis. “Fondly do we hope, fervently do we pray, that this mighty scourge of war may speedily pass away,” Lincoln says. “Yet, if God wills that it continue until all the wealth piled by the bondsman’s two hundred and fifty years of unrequited toil shall be sunk, and until every drop of blood drawn with the lash shall be paid by another drawn with the sword, as was said three thousand years ago, so still it must be said ‘the judgments of the Lord are true and righteous altogether.’”

In between these bookends the dialogue is interspersed with Lincoln’s yarns, jokes and metaphors. These were not merely illustrations of “downhome” folksy American English. Lincoln’s rhetoric, infused not only with the color and common sense of the American frontier, but with Biblical metaphor and Shakespearean tragedy (which he could recite from memory), provided a language for understanding and acting through politics in the Civil War. In James McPherson’s phrase, Lincoln “won the war with metaphors.”

To cite one example from the film, Lincoln, a self-educated student of mathematics, calls upon Euclid to help determine whether or not to allow a Southern peace delegation to visit the White House. “Euclid’s first common notion is this,” Lincoln tells a young telegraph operator, “things which are equal to the same thing are equal to each other. That’s a rule of mathematical reasoning. It’s true because it works. Has done and always will do. In his book, Euclid says this is ‘self-evident.’ You see there it is even in that 2,000-year-old book of mechanical law. It is a self-evident truth that things that are equal to the same thing are equal to each other.” Lincoln determines not to invite the delegation to Washington, strengthening his hand in the House in the bid to push through the Thirteenth Amendment.

The general level of the film’s acting is extraordinary. Beyond Day-Lewis of special note are Jones as radical Republican leader Congressman Thaddeus Stevens of Ohio and Field’s sympathetic portrayal of the mercurial Mary Todd Lincoln. A subplot follows the tragedy and drama within the Lincoln family—a son, Willie, had died in the White House of typhus and Mary desperately feared losing a second, Robert (Joseph Gordon-Levitt), who demanded his father allow him to enlist in the Union army.

Jones’ Stevens provides another thread to the story. Vilified for a century in American history textbooks as a monster, Stevens emerges in the film as the most uncompromising advocate of equality—though he himself compromises in order to see the Thirteenth Amendment pass.

The primary plotline, as noted, involves Lincoln’s determination to see through the abolition amendment in the midst of a leftover Congress—a task that would depend upon winning the votes of a number of Democratic Party Congressmen who have opposed emancipation. To its credit, Spielberg’sLincoln does not shy away from the complexity of the situation.

In an early scene, Lincoln explains to his skeptical cabinet the necessity for the amendment in spite of the Emancipation Proclamation, which had gone into effect January 1, 1863. That measure had been based on the assertion of his wartime powers as commander-in-chief. Lincoln feared it might be reversed in peacetime by the courts, and he also feared that if the new measure were not implemented peace might be made with the South allowing slavery to continue.

Lincoln is weaker in its presentation of the process by which this amendment was passed. It focuses on the activities of three “hustler” lobbyists played by James Spader, John Hawkes and Tim Blake Nelson—a trio clearly set down in the movie for comic relief—as they attempt to cajole and bribe wavering Democrats into supporting the amendment. This process was real—Lincoln preferred to think of it as politicking rather than bribery—but the film tends to minimize the more powerful political trends at play.

The Democrats had been defeated in the 1864 elections by a wave of popular support in the North for Lincoln, the Republicans and, indeed, emancipation. The Democratic Party had made Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation the issue in the 1864 elections, launching vicious race-baiting attacks on the “Black Republican” Party in the North.

Had it not been for a turn of fortunes in the late summer of 1864, and chiefly General William Tecumseh Sherman’s capture of Atlanta, Lincoln and the Republicans might very well have lost the election of 1864 to the Democrats and George McClellan, the former commander of the Union Army of the Potomac. The Democrats, had they won, were prepared to negotiate a peace with the Confederacy that would have recognized its independence and reversed emancipation.

As it turned out, the electorate delivered a crushing blow to the Democrats. The population was moving to the left, attested to by the fact that the Army voted more than 80 percent for Lincoln over McClellan. All of this finds only a faint echo in Lincoln—we see soldiers eagerly awaiting word of the vote on the Thirteenth Amendment as it flashes across the telegraph, we hear repeated references to defeated Democrats, we sense the gravity and momentousness of the final vote on the amendment, and the film has Lincoln, in the beginning, asserting his belief that his Emancipation Proclamation and his use of war powers had been rooted in the popular will, which he found to have been vindicated by the elections of 1864.

Yet the role of the masses in history is minimized; the conception of politics as horse-trading is privileged. This likely reflects the influence of establishment writer Kearns Goodwin, whose emphasis in Team of Rivals is on Lincoln’s cunning as a politician. Whatever the merits of the book, hers is an approach that reflects the complacency and narrowness of politics in contemporary America, characteristics that cloud the understanding of what was a very different time.

It does not detract from the film in the least to point out that Kushner and Spielberg might have focused on several other moments in the long and bloody war. There were several turning points full with drama, including the aforementioned election of 1864, the defeat of the invading Southern armies at the Battle of Gettysburg in Pennsylvania in 1863, and perhaps most importantly of all, the summer and fall of 1862 after Lincoln had drafted the Emancipation Proclamation and awaited some sort of battlefield success so that it could be issued, which ultimately came with the Battle of Antietam on September 17, Constitution Day, that year.

That there will be considerable interest in Lincoln appears likely. It is significant that the film appears when it does, at a time of social crisis and impending upheaval; how it does, from a leading Hollywood filmmaker, Steven Spielberg; and as it does—not as an attack on Lincoln, the abolitionists or the Civil War itself.

Lincoln has been pilloried by numerous practitioners of “identity politics” as a racist and hypocrite. And it has become nearly an article of faith in certain layers of academia, the erstwhile civil rights movement and the ex-left that the Civil War accomplished nothing, that what followed in the African American experience was simply “slavery by another name,” to borrow the title from a recent documentary.

As the passage from Marx indicates, socialists view the Civil War and Lincoln’s role in quite a different fashion, as part of an objective historical assessment, paying full tribute to the revolutionary and world-historical character of the titanic struggle of the 1860s.

All the evidence suggests considerable popular interest in Lincoln, with one publication describing its limited opening weekend as “triumphant.” It is to be hoped that the film will lead to a further engagement with Lincoln the historical figure, with the abolitionists and the Civil War, as well as a deeper appreciation of the motor force of American history: the struggle for equality.

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Ben Affleck’s Argo: An embrace of US foreign policy

Fact is, the more articles on the topic we originate the more search calls may pop up with a negative critique as opposed to the usual mainstream adoring “drool”.  Also, a fresh review may help to bring the issue to yet more people in our side who may have missed the earlier articles.  As it is, Dan Brennan’s coverage is excellent, and we thank him and wsws.org for providing more ammunition. Incidentally, I (along with Senior Editor Gaither Stewart) published scathing “community reviews” on Rolling Stone’s Movie Reviews page (see it under “Addison dePittt” and Gaither’s name), to offset the superficial article filed by Peter Travers, staff critic.  RS is one of the few major publications that allows almost unrestricted commentary on the reviews themselves, and they display the community ratings right next to their resident critic’s rating. Those of you who feel inclined may want to file your own community reviews of ARGO while the opinion window is open. Rolling Stone’s circulation assures a good return for the effort. Don’t let this idiotic, conceited blockbuster being hailed by the usual mavens as good entertainment cloud the situation about Iran or the CIA.  As an opinion filed on RS aptly puts it,  “Hollywood is to a very high degree the propaganda central for the shadow government.”—PG
SEE ALSO:
http://www.rollingstone.com/movies/news/q-a-ben-affleck-on-directing-argo-and-surviving-hollywood-20121012
http://www.rollingstone.com/movies/videos/travers-argo-is-terrific-despite-hollywood-exaggerations-20121011#ixzz2AhWZljZ7
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An embrace of US foreign policy

By Dan Brennan, wsws.org
Directed by Ben Affleck, screenplay by Chris Terrio
Argo, a new political thriller starring and directed by Ben Affleck, has earned critical praise and a number two spot on the box office charts for the second straight week. The film is based on declassified information about a little-known episode during the Iran hostage crisis of 1979-1980.

In the midst of the Iranian Revolution against the Shah, Washington’s brutal puppet, a group of demonstrators stormed the US embassy in November 1979, capturing and holding 52 Americans for 444 days. Six American diplomats present in the embassy that day escaped and secretly found shelter in the home of the Canadian ambassador. The film recounts the story of the CIA’s rescue of these six.

Two months after the chaotic scenes at the embassy in Tehran, the group’s safety is increasingly in doubt. Back in the US, CIA ‘exfiltration’ expert Tony Mendez (Ben Affleck) concocts a plan to pose as a member of a Canadian film unit scouting locations for a Planet of the Apes-inspired science fiction movie. The success of the scheme, the best of the bad ideas proposed, requires selecting an actual script (hence “Argo”), assembling a Hollywood production team and promoting the planned film to the press. Mendez enters Iran, posing as the film’s producer, and must lead the group in their exodus.

A couple of contrived close calls aside, the film manages to hold the viewer’s interest not so much through the non-stop action so often resorted to in films of this genre. Instead, Affleck attempts to convey tension through blending archival and newsreel footage from the time. The filmmakers are relatively restrained in their use of suspense sequences, inserted in a storyline with occasionally comic dialogue.

Holding one’s interest, however, is one thing, but to leave an impression, to say something meaningful about the conditions of life—and history—is quite another. The power of the media and information, in contrast to the power of the gun, emerges as a theme: hence, a mock execution staged in front of a camera, musings about whether the revolutionary fervor in Iran is all for media consumption, the fake movie project itself … In the end, there’s not much that’s fresh on offer in Argo. The subplot of the absentee father, struggling to maintain a relationship with his son, comes off as especially trite and predictable.

Far more problematic are the implications of the film’s portrayal of the hostage crisis and the rescue operation. The events of 1979-1980 did not emerge fresh from the ether. The US government and the CIA in particular played a direct role in the 1953 coup that reinstalled the Shah of Iran in power. A quarter century of absolute rule and brutal suppression of all resistance in Iran depended first and foremost on support from Washington. Wide layers of the country’s population were outraged by America’s role by 1979.

While this history of neocolonial intervention is acknowledged in a minute or two of narration at the film’s outset, what dominates throughout the remaining two hours is something quite different. We’re meant to embrace the CIA hero, chuckle at Hollywood’s collaboration with the intelligence apparatus and view the Iranian masses as the enemy.

The brief reference to past (and ongoing) crimes is included to provide a semblance of balance, but then this history is essentially pushed aside and forgotten. It plays no active role in Argo’s events and serves, in the end, to provide a certain veneer of objectivity to a work that promotes the operations of US imperialism. Decades of repression, torture and murder are one thing, but, after all, six American lives are at stake!

For the filmmakers, who included co-producer George Clooney, “It was always important to us that the movie not be politicized,” Affleck told interviewer Romain Raynaldy. “We went to great pains to try to make it very factual and fact-based, knowing that it was going to be coming out before an election in the United States when a lot of things get politicized. We obviously couldn’t forecast how terrible things would become now, but even when we made the movie, we saw some resonance to countries that were in tumult … Just because a part of the world is undergoing strife and tumult, it doesn’t mean you stop examining it, looking at it or talking about it. I think that would be a bad thing.”

One always reads such comments with amazement.

Indeed the present “strife” in the region cries out for more, not less, coverage in film and art more generally. However, genuine art uncovers deeper truths, it doesn’t evade them in a cowardly fashion by contenting oneself with superficial “facts” and trivial episodes.

Affleck’s love affair with the CIA, known around the world (and in Iran in particular) as Murder Inc., is disgusting. Former agent Mendez was heavily involved in the making of Argo, Affleck noted. The actor-director explained to Raynaldy, “It was really inspiring to meet Tony. He was steeped in this movie. It was Tony’s story, Tony’s point of view.”

Hollywood’s empty-headedness makes a host of directors, writers and performers vulnerable to pressures and moods, and social forces, that they may only be partially aware of. Affleck seems oblivious to the fact that his film, whether he likes it or not, has become part of the effort by the American ruling elite to drag the US into a war with Iran.

But does thoughtlessness make his activities any more excusable? Can the filmmakers be entirely blind to the context in which their film was shot and released: a decade of US military occupations on either side of Iran, ongoing covert operations and economic warfare, and relentless and growing threats of military intervention by the US and Israel?

No doubt, shameful as it is to point out, the presence of Democrat Barack Obama in the White House makes the war drive more acceptable to film industry liberals. The film that first brought Affleck fame, Good Will Hunting (1997), which he co-wrote with Matt Damon, referred approvingly to left academics Howard Zinn and Noam Chomsky, who, whatever else one wants to say about them, were public opponents of the US invasions of the Middle East.

Fifteen years later, Affleck, apparently in quest of renewed box office success and a return to superstardom, finds himself in the middle of the drive to demonize Iran and the Iranians. There’s not much more to be said.

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